


Bite Me

by SelenaEstella



Series: Prompted works [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (mild) Sadstuck, Brain Damage, Highblood Psychosis, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Swearing, violence isn't that graphic but I'm paranoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaEstella/pseuds/SelenaEstella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belated GamKar prompt-fill: Gamzee is caught in a fit of highblood psychosis; Karkat coaxs him out of it which leads into Gamzee expressing his thanks through copious, scandalous pale affection and bonding between the two of them.</p><p>I did my best!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Me

**Author's Note:**

> (Fucking hell I need to put more thought into titles.)
> 
> Took a few liberties with this, as always. And by the way, this DOES have a little to do with something I'm sorta-planning but probably won't write for a while, if ever.

You hate it when he gets like this, all snapping jaws and scratching claws and snarling at everyone that comes near. You hate it because it’s as if he’s degrading himself to a non-troll, going _feral_ like a beast, and the others will tie him up and shut him away and pretend he doesn’t exist, until you can be fetched along to sooth him into a state of semi-sanity, like a tamer would a circus freak.

Yeah, you hate it when he gets like this.

‘Gamzee,’ you say softly. You don’t know if he understands you – the usually-yellow parts of his eyes are a bright, orangey-red and that’s usually a sign that he’s in it pretty deep. You take a step forward and are met by an extra-loud snarl. His teeth a very sharp and leave marks. You’d know. And his nails grow so quickly that there’s no point in filing them nice and curved and harmless after cutting them back.

You hate having a highblood for a moirail.

‘Gamzee,’ you say again, edging nearer. You don’t perhaps, feel _quite_ as much fear as you did the last few times this happened. You know from experience what you need to do, and you also know from experience that it’ll be alright.

You hope you can trust experience.

You reach out a hand and he takes a sharp snap at it. ‘ _Gamzee_ …’ You voice shakes slightly as you get onto your knees, just beyond biting range. You only need to straighten your elbow though and then he could get your fingers. ‘Gamzee, _please_ …!’

You hate it when this happens because you know it’s going to hurt.

You manage to scoop forward while he’s pausing for breath, get his head over your shoulder before he can reach anything you could lose. He writhes like a worm and you hang on close, praying that it’ll be quick this time and that maybe he’s gonna come to his sense before he—

You can’t stop yourself from crying out as he sinks those teeth, sharp as sin you swear, into the flesh of you shoulder and begins to _rip_. Kanaya says you could end up permanently damaging it like this, that you should at least wear something over it to add protection or just, you know, _not do this at all??_

But Gamzee has to taste your blood if this is going to work. You know that.

The others don’t get it, but that’s ok because Gamzee is _your_ moirail so only _you_ should have to deal with this and no one else needs to get bitten by a psychotic highblood. The others also think that ropes and chains and maybe a culling fork hold the best answers, not kind words and gently touches and that is less ok, also because Gamzee is your moirail. You _need_ him.

‘Gamzee,’ you say of the umpteenth time. ‘ _Guh-_ Gamzee, shoosh. It’s ok. It’s – _ah!_ – it’s ok.’ You feel up into his hair and manage to find his right horn. He isn’t tearing so much now and the pressure’s lessened a bit. You can probably undo the ropes on his wrists soon and that’ll make things easier. He hates being tied up more than you hate seeing it.

‘Just calm down, please? And stop biting me? …Gamzee, that _hurts_ …’ Your voice sounds small and useless, even to your own ears. You just want this part to be over quickly, so that you can get onto the next bit, the bit that’s almost _nice_.

You talk for God knows how long, just rambling on and on in an attempt calm, spewing all the soothing pale words and phrases that come into your head, all the crap that usually comes up. Eventually, it gets past the blood-crazed wall in his mind and maybe begins to _mean_ something to him, and he slowly releases your shoulder.

You can tell he’s back to semi-normalcy when he licks it hesitantly. The relief you feel is huge.

‘ _Gamzee!_ ’ You lean back and look at his face. Gamzee looks miserable, all huge, sorry eyes and candy-red blood on his lips and chin. Well, you know it’s candy red, but the room is dim and makes it look more like rust.

”M sorry,’ he mumbles. You heave an overly-dramatic sigh and go to untie the knots at his wrists. The ropes will have rubbed the skin raw, you know, but you brought cream for them. Both Gamzee and the others will want him to stay here for a bit longer before he comes out and faces whatever shit he did before they could contain him and that’s fine, you’re used to it, you have supplies.

The knots were tight and eventually you just fuck all and take you sickle to them. Gamzee kneels in subdued silence as you work, but at least he isn’t apologizing still. You wish he wouldn’t apologize _at all_ – it’s not his fault he was born with purple in his veins, not his fault you’re never able to stop him often enough…

He hugs you very tightly afterwards, burying his face in your hair. You hug him back because pale affection is something you both need right now.

‘What was it?’ you ask eventually. ‘What happened?’ You don’t say _‘this time’_ although you’re certainly thinking it. This has happened far, far too many times but there doesn’t seem to be a single goddamn thing you can do to stop it.

‘Them bastards,’ Gamzee growls. ‘They ain’t getting’ their respect on, bro. The filth blood in their brains don’t let them know when to motherfuckin’ _kneel_ …’

‘Gamzee, we’ve talked about this,’ you say through gritted teeth. ‘We are _trying_ to run an _equality_ system here. _That means, no telling people to kneel!_ ’ Gamzee whines quietly, beseechingly, but you refuse to let it affect you. You are going to be _stern_. ‘If _they’re_ peasants, then what the fuck am _I_ , you crazy clown?! Maybe bear that in mind next time you feel like going all dictator on them! _Or_ , I don’t know, maybe try to _respect **them** a little to get some in return??_ ’ Gamzee whines again, holds you a little tighter. You heave another sigh.

‘I’ll try,’ he whimpers. ‘I promise I’ll try, Karbro…’ He always promises. You don’t know if it ever _has_ worked when you’re away because no one’s been willing to _ask_ at the time, and there are so many sopor-holes in this poor troll’s pan for _him_ to remember most of the time. But the point is that, to you at least, the promises are fucking _empty_.

Gamzee shifts so that he’s sitting on his ass rather than bending forward on his knees, and he gathers you into his arms too easily to be completely soothing. He can lift you off your feet even half-starved, you know it, and maybe he does have _some_ form of self-control left if he’s managed to avoid killing everyone in the base by sheer accident all this time.

But you don’t know. Maybe that’s the worst thing about this mess – having a moirail so pan-damaged that even _he_ can’t explain his actions most of the time.

Gamzee curls over and around you protectively, and for the first time since long before you entered the block, the stiff set of your shoulders relaxes a little. You begin to feel safe, because so long as Gamzee is aware of your name, you know that he will never hurt you.

‘Hush, my brother,’ he croons. It was creepy at first, but you know he means it sincerely now. So the words are comforting rather than unsettling. ‘Close your eyes… it’ll be alright…’ He repeats your words from previous rages… why must nearly every one of his actions remind you of just how broken his mind is?

But you let yourself doze. Not sleep – never sleep, not during the day, not when the others have to rest and the chances of attack are at their highest – but you take a time-out. You relax and recuperate. And Gamzee strokes your hair and lightly kisses your horns, and for however briefly it may be, you let yourself believe that everything is fine.

And in a way, it is, because no matter how bad things get… you can fucking _deal_ with it, with your moirail by your side.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this was done for someone on Tumblr whom I idolize, and only recognized as such when I went to message them the news that I was about to post the story on Tumblr, two-three months AFTER they had requested it.


End file.
